


Laura

by ziyazu



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, F/F, Summer Lovin', banshee bidness, haha peter died!, ladies like ladies in ponds, magical alive-again sisters, simple accidental necromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziyazu/pseuds/ziyazu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels the precise moment, water against skin, when Laura moves towards her, moves behind her, and she smiles. "Don’t think just because I’m mostly human I don’t know exactly where you are."</p><p>Laura pauses, and against the back of her eyes, Lydia imagines her head tilting again. "It’s really more about where you want me to be," Laura murmurs in her ear, as her wet fingers trail up, and up, and up...</p><p>Lydia opens her eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laura

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the distant past and forgotten until now. :)

Things haven’t been quite the same since Laura came back.

Well, ‘since Laura came back’ is sort of misleading. ‘Since that lightning storm where Lydia couldn’t stop screaming, sucking in air and screaming, eyes wide and terrified, tears streaming down her cheeks, her gut punching with wrongbadwrongALIVEwrong, until out of the woods came a surprised, triumphant howl’ is... sort of more accurate.

Yeah. Rogue witches, a sudden planetary alignment that startled the crap out of NASA, some truly epic lightning, and Peter’s recent (extremely timely, extremely well-placed) demise. Simple accidental necromancy, right? Nothing to it.

Anyways, Laura is back. Which is great and all, and Cora’s face when her older siblings came striding out of the woods - Derek dragging a laughing Laura by the hand and honest-to-God grinning - was something no one could even begin to describe, but… well, it was weird now.

Not because of anything anyone had done, or because Derek is suddenly smiling all the time, and not because Laura is gorgeous and funny and has amazing fashion sense and immediately adopted Isaac as her personal minion and Erica as her evil twin, but because… because something, okay? Lydia doesn’t know. She's just a banshee, she's not... psychic or whatever.

And look, she's tried to tell herself that it’s because Laura still feels wrong, that her banshee senses are telling her that dead is dead and should always be dead, even if that dead is in pieces in the woods, but that’s not true at all. Laura is clearly alive, pieces or no, and Lydia doesn’t even know if she has banshee senses most of the time. What she felt during the storm faded as soon as they heard Laura’s howl, and she hasn’t felt it again.

(Also, people have stopped dying. That's a whole other thing, though.)

And Laura didn’t come back broken, either, not like Peter had. No, she is beyond perfectly normal, beyond perfectly fitting into pack life, stuffing marshmallows into Derek’s mouth while he snorts, teaching Erica and Scott parkour in Derek's old loft, french-braiding Cora’s hair while they watch movies, high-fiving Stiles for a particularly bad pun, teasing Isaac about getting yet another new scarf. Even Allison is warming to her, showing her how to shoot arrows with freakish werewolf accuracy, and Boyd lets her sprawl all over him with only a sigh that everyone can tell is secretly happy.

Lydia is the only odd one out. The only one... not joining the Laura-party. She doesn't really know why. Maybe she missed the invite somehow.

The thing is, Laura stays out of her way. She watches her, she smiles, but she stays out of her way. When she has to, she treats her with a hesitant sort of polite deference, as if she can’t figure her out and it’s not her place to try. It would be less weird, except for the part where it's totally weird and no one knows what to say or how to fix it, so they all just pretend it isn't happening and get on with throwing themselves into the sudden beacon of calm that they call home.

Because that's the real thing, Lydia thinks, idly, sitting on the edge of the front porch of the semi-rebuilt Hale house. She's playing with a strand of hair, shining copper in the hot afternoon sunlight, irritated in that sort of hazy, headachy way that too much sunglare and not enough brain activity can give you in the late summer stillness. The thing is, it would all be much less weird if anything ever happened anymore. Which it doesn't, seemingly. Nematon or no, they haven’t had anything happen to them in weeks, and they’re all bored and lazy in the summer heat.

On the other side of the porch, Cora and Isaac have sprawled, their snickering and whispering kicking up a notch along with the cicadas in the trees around the house, and Lydia sighs, flicking her hair back over her shoulder and leaning forward, elbows on her sticky bare knees. Derek and Stiles are nowhere to be seen - really, it’s almost funny how stealthy they’re _not_ \- Laura disappeared with a vague comment about sticking her head in the freezer, and Allison and Scott never even showed today. It never occurred to anyone to be worried; it’s just that sort of day. If Lydia had to bet, she'd say they were on their second box of popsicles about now, whatever is playing on Scott's laptop completely forgotten as they kiss suger-red smooches all over bare, tanned skin, as they whisper and giggle together, totally lost in their own little world.

Not that Lydia's jealous, or anything.

Behind her she hears the snick of Erica sharpening a knife, chomping the lollipop poking out of the corner of her mouth, leaning against Boyd as he leans against the front door and pretends he isn't watching her with absolute adoration on his face. Lydia looks away quickly and shudders slightly as a drop of sweat trickles down along her spine, running her fingers under the halterneck tie of her dress and closing her eyes. Maybe she should just go home. 

And then, suddenly, there’s a finger sliding lightly down her bare back, tracing the path of the sweat. It startles her, badly, and she whirls around to see Laura there, crouching, smirking, crowding close - closer than she’s ever come before. She has a bright green popsicle in her hand, and she sucks on the tip, cheeks hollowing, eyes predatory and playful, before pulling off with a pop.

"Feeling the heat, banshee-girl? Werewolves handle it better, I think."

Lydia leans away from her and squints in the bright light, awkwardly pretending to stretch and using it as an excuse to stand, to put some space between them again. When Laura's so close it feels like she's taking up all of the air, like Lydia can't breathe, somehow. She sighs huffily and sniffs, brushing unnecessarily at her skirt. "I’m fine, thank you. Unlike some people, I don't have fur."

She smirks, trademark Martin, and looks away pointedly, resisting the urge to twitch her skirt again, to smooth her perfect hair, to do anything except stand staunchly in the fierce sunlight, elegant and uncaring. ( _Fuck_ it's hot today.)

Laura gazes at her for a long moment, eyes sparkling, and then she stands fluidly, long legs unfolding bare and tanned and smooth, glowing, really, and - look, okay, it’s line-of-sight. Laura’s on the porch, Lydia’s on the ground, she can’t help it if her gaze follows the hemline of Laura’s frankly tiny sundress up and up and… and Laura’s watching her, head tilted, lips parted softly, and Lydia… Lydia doesn’t even know. What is this? What is happening here?

She almost asks, and then she doesn't, so they continue to stand there, Laura looking at her, Lydia not looking at her, purposefully, pointedly, just glancing, eyeing, her breath coming hard for some reason, and...

See? It's weird.

Except, then it isn't, because then Laura catches her tongue between sharp teeth in a way that might be amused, might be mischievous, might be a lot of things Lydia's not really sure how to think about just yet, and she jerks her head towards the woods beyond the house.

"C’mon. Bet Derek n’ Cora never showed you the old swimming hole."

Lydia blinks at her, suddenly nonplussed, and when Laura turns to smile at her as she walks backwards, lips full and sweet and shining, she can't stop herself from smiling softly in return.

And following, obviously. Obviously she is following. She will murder Stiles if he knew about a swimming hole and didn't tell her. Derek probably took him the first hot day months ago so they could make out underwater, or something. (Honestly, those two.)

* * * * *

The water is deep and dark when they get there, a small clearing with a natural sinkhole, an underground spring running fresh and cold. Lydia peers into the deep blue, thinks distantly of Mexican cenotes and disappearing cities covered in jungle vines, of Mayan gold and neon-bright frogs, beautiful and deadly. Laura doesn't do anything of the sort, tossing her popsicle stick behind her and kicking off her flip-flops, wading in up to her knees. Lydia watches her watch her own toes through the ripples, slide her fingertips across the surface in a wide arc, before she tilts her face up to the treetops above them. It is beautiful, in the still of the hot summer day. Even the cicadas have left them, mostly.

Laura sighs, blissfully. "I missed it here."

Lydia says, snidely, "I didn't know dead people could miss anything."

Laura tilts her head. "Mmm. Well, I miss it now."

Lydia snorts. "You're here now."

Laura nods, slowly. "And so are you."

Instead of answering, Lydia pokes around the edge of the water, peering into the chasm, keeping an eye out for nettles, for poison ivy, for places snakes might hide. After a minute she feels eyes on her and glances up at Laura, who is watching her steadily. Always with the watching, what is this? She rolls her eyes irritatedly and crouches to pick up a stone, tossing it into the water with a muted splash. Laura's mouth twitches in a way that might be a smile.

When the overgrown path leads her back around to where Laura's flip-flops lie abandoned, Lydia looks up again, her skin prickly and hot now, her fingers gritty with pollen and sap from pushing aside plants to make her way.

Laura’s still watching her, of course, the water at her mid-thigh, hair trailing down over her arms like some kind of ancient forest nymph. She blinks slowly, those magical Hale eyes shining in the dim shadowy light, and then she reaches down and lifts her skirt, stripping off her sundress completely, throwing it into the grass behind Lydia with effortless canid accuracy.

She’s not wearing anything under it.

 _Oh_ , Lydia thinks dumbly.

And then, she can’t stop her heart from tripping or her throat from closing in a sudden hard swallow, and her cheeks burn with more than the ambient air temperature as she slips her feet from her shoes without really looking. When she first steps hurriedly in, her toes almost go numb, but she doesn't stop until the pleasure of the cold hits her a few steps later, eyes closing in pure ecstasy despite herself as the sensation washes up her, water lapping at her thighs until it slows, stills.

She feels the precise moment, water against skin, when Laura moves towards her, moves behind her, and she smiles. "Don’t think just because I’m mostly human I don’t know exactly where you are."

Laura pauses, and against the back of her eyes, Lydia imagines her head tilting again. "It’s really more about where you want me to be," Laura murmurs in her ear, as her wet fingers trail up, and up, and up...

Lydia opens her eyes.

* * * * *

When she comes - soft, breathy cries echoing off ancient tree trunks, tall and strong - it's with her face leant back into Laura's neck and Laura’s arms around her, fingers inside her. She brushes her hair out of her face afterwards and turns, grinning into smile-sweet kisses, her thighs silky wet and dripping, her breasts brushing Laura's as she strips off her own dress under the endless summer sky.


End file.
